


Who am I if not Dalish?

by Smaugstorm



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Solavellan - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Solavellan Fluff, Who am I, at camp, comforting snuggles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-04-28 05:58:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5080360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smaugstorm/pseuds/Smaugstorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is something that’s been floating around in my head for a while. I think I needed to write it out. I was playing and I figured that there would be a moment when the inquisitor realizes that she may never get to return to her clan. I hadn’t really seen that explored before. This turned out way longer than I was expecting.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Who am I if not Dalish?

**Author's Note:**

> This is something that’s been floating around in my head for a while. I think I needed to write it out. I was playing and I figured that there would be a moment when the inquisitor realizes that she may never get to return to her clan. I hadn’t really seen that explored before. This turned out way longer than I was expecting.

Farin'grir Lavellan scooted closer to the fire in front of her. The bitter cold of the Hinterlands bit at her back, reminding her that it would only be moments before she needed to rotate again to stay warm. Every inch of her body ached from the day’s battle, remaining Red Templars had ambushed them on the road to Redcliffe. Officially, the inquisition was on orders to rest, her orders. Most of their work in the Hinterlands was done, but her Dalish spirit compelled her to explore what they could, also the anchor seemed to have a pulling sensation, which usually meant that there was a rift nearby.

She looked over the tents of the hundreds of soldiers under her command she thought of the aravels. The Shemlen tents were much warmer, made for comfort more than ease of travel. Sleeping out under the stars is where she felt most at home. More than her absurdly large room at Skyhold anyway. Late at night looking up at the sky reminded her of when she was a child and storytelling with Keeper Deshanna and the clan’s elder, her Uncle Dar’Athim. They would gather the children to watch the stars and tell all the stories of Dalish Culture. Her favorite had always been the story of Elgar’nan and how he fought the sun itself to right an injustice. She traced the constellations with her finger and longed to be back there with them. It was amazing to think that she could feel homesick when she had been homeless most of her life. A warm hand touched her shoulder, she looked up to see Solas gently smiling. 

“Andaran atish'an, ma Vhenan.” Farin'grir greeted her lover as he sat down beside her, he threw a thick woolen blanket over the both of them.

“It seems particularly cold tonight, even for Ferelden.” Solas leaned into her, linking their fingers together. They sat like that for a while, quietly looking at the stars and holding onto each other. He was warm and familiar. He felt like love, acceptance, and she felt safe when he was around. She had to cherish the small moments, there was no way of knowing when everything can be taken away from her again. He seemed to notice her tension and began to rub her shoulders where her muscles ached the most. He channeled healing magic into his hands and after some unpleasant stinging, the pain in her body began to melt away.

Sitting like this, everything almost felt normal. Sitting by a fire on a cold night, holding someone she loved. She could almost pretend that she wasn’t the Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste, or any shemlen title. As far as the inquisitor was concerned, Solas was home to her. Sitting here with him, she almost felt like just Farin’grir Lavellan for the first time in a long time.

“Do you think I’ll ever get to be Dalish again?” She spoke quietly. So quietly that she wasn’t sure Solas had heard her.

He removed his hands from her shoulders and said, "If that is what you desire to be. Your title is yours to choose, although I don't believe Dalish and Inquisitor are mutually exclusive." 

She took off the leather boots that Cassandra insisted she wear. When she was with the clan she never had to wear shoes, at least none with soles in them. The boots pinched her toes and felt like part of a costume for the good people of Thedas. Everything about her now seemed to be human, like her advisors were trying to make her easier to digest. No longer the Dalish savage, but a proper inquisitor, the herald of andraste, sent by the holy bride herself. They made her grow out her hair, the close cropped intricately braided designs she had sported pre-inquisition now a distant memory. Even the portraits shems commissioned of her displayed her sharp features and dark skin as softer and lighter.

”Look what these shemlen have done to me, I swear they’re going to sneak up on me and crop my ears any minute.” she dropped into Sera’s unmistakable accent, “It’s less elfy innit?”

Solas huffed at the notion, “Vhenan, you can say no to them.”

“To what end? I denied being the Herald and they ignored me. I took the role of inquisitor because the world would actually end if I didn't..." She began unbuckling her heavy armor, "So I wear the clothes they give me. Still, when they look at me all they see is my Vallaslin. I honestly don’t think most of them could tell you what color my eyes are. I am starting to believe that the only reason they gave me a title is because they don’t want to try and pronounce my name.”

"Sometimes to achieve the world one desires, one must take regrettable measures." Solas offered, “There must be an outstanding amount of pressure on you vhenan.”

“The first time in my life I leave the camp and now I’m hundreds of miles away from my clan, leading a mostly shem army to almost certain death because they unflinchingly believe I was divinely chosen by their Maker’s wife in order to save the world from a literal hole in the sky and an ancient blighted magister.” She looked down at her hands, the anchor glowed bright green, it's light shining on their faces, “By the Dread Wolf, what have I gotten myself into?”

The armor she was wearing had come from the Chantry, crafted by the Templar smiths in Val Royeaux. It was a gift/bribe from the Empress of Orlais herself. A burning red sun was emblazoned across the chestpiece. Hidden behind the plate, she kept an amulet given to her by her Uncle. She pulled the sinew cord and held the Ironwood token in her hands, the wood had been hand carved and sanded to a smooth surface. On one side it depicted Elgar’nan casting the sun down, avenging the creatures of earth. On the other it depicted the Betrayal, Dar’Athim’s favorite story. He believed that the Dread Wolf was a god of rebellion. Dar’Athim (to the dismay of the keeper) believed that the Dread Wolf betrayed the gods to save elfkind. He had given it to Farin'grir to remind her to not be silent or complacent at the conclave. * _Dar’Banal Na Tu’Banal_ was carved into the outer edge.

“The irony is not lost on me dear, but I do not believe you are defined as Dalish. Who you are is a reflection of the choices you make. Not the circumstances of your birth.” The mage wrapped the blanket around her completely and gestured to stand. She stood and feeling the soles of her bare feet on the cold ground brought her back to her days of traveling. Exploring ruins, listening to master Dar'Athim's stories, and hunting exciting creatures. Her old life seemed so far away from her, she feared she would lose it. The two of them walked away from camp towards the woods.

"I used to be fun you know." She clutched the blanket closer to her chest to keep out the cold wind. "Even as a child I was always getting into trouble, I once put bees in the hahren's aravel." A small smile spread across her face and her heart grew heavy again when she thought of her clan. "Then when I reached my adolescence I would run off with lovers and we would stay the night in ancient elven ruins." The warrior blushed when thinking back on these memories. "I enjoyed the idea of places that stood empty for so long suddenly seeing life again. I lived my life in a constant state of excitement and danger and I miss it daily."

"Are you not exciting now vhenan? I believe we battled a dragon just this week, not to mention delving into a centuries old Elvhen Temple and recovering an enchanted sword?"

He placed his arm around her waist as they walked, he always wanted to be touching her. When they were in strategy meetings together he stood close by where he could brush a hand on hers reassuringly without appearing too intimate. Now that they were alone he did not hold back his affection.

"I feel much more like a bureaucrat now, for every minute we spend in the field fighting some amazing creature or exploring unseen places I spend an hour in meetings, dressed like a human, sitting in their too-large homes, surrounded by the wealth they have either stolen or killed for." Solas leaned against a tree and Farin'grir settled against his chest, pressing her face into the crook of his neck. "Can you believe the Empress of Orlais insists on meeting me in Halamshiral again? Does she even know it was stolen from the elves?"

"It's possible she doesn't, people are all too happy to ignore the bloodier parts of history if they benefit from the bloodshed." the mage pressed his lips to the top of her head, kissing her coarse curls. He paused, putting his arms around her. He held her tightly as if he were afraid that she would disappear, "You should be your whole self, unapologetically. At least now while you have the attention of all of Thedas. Do not let them forget that you are a Dalish woman. History will change who you are, just like it did with Ameridan, people will write your story to suit them ."

"I'm not like you Solas, who walked right up to a seeker and told her that you were an apostate in the middle of a mage rebellion... I am a symbol to these people. An army of people have gathered to see the Herald of Andraste. They are willing to die for what they believe I represent." her bottom lip quivered... "Many already have died because of decisions I made. It is much easier to let them believe, especially when I need to focus all of my energy on saving the world. I can't waste time worrying about how I am remembered, besides, it feels... selfish, "  

**Author's Note:**

> *To do nothing is to be nothing.
> 
>  
> 
> This is still a wip, but I will add another chapter later.


End file.
